Page 48 of The Wrath of Ashes
“But. You could—let’s say… Buy the ports?” King Reigh raised a brow.
“Forfeiting the ports would require me to ban both Ramolia and Monsmount from docking any military vessels there. Yes?” Rath lifted his upper lip, showing a flash of intimidating fang.
“It is what it is at this point. Your father toyed with the idea of buying the port some time ago. I was against it because Port Angstruth put us at an advantage. There’s no end in sight. We’re being robbed blind by merchants, and I only tell you thisbecause you cannot and will not attack a human nation.” Reigh stared Rath down, fingers tenting.
“If I buy the port, the money gained could be used for war. I cannot do that.”
“Buy the ports for the debt the kingdom owes Kennesmal—pay it directly to them. In exchange, we’ll negotiate an ongoing tax on the ports paid for by Sauria to use them and, as a neutral party, the kingdom will be unable to decide who can and cannot dock.” A weary attendant gathered the nerves to meet Rath’s eyes. He wanted the war to be over with as much as any of them.
“I’ve no mind for figures. On the surface, this seems great.” Rath leaned back in his chair and tapped his foot, lips pursed in consideration. “What’s in it for me, putting money and resources into Angstruth?”
“I’m certain you’d find a way to make it profitable.”
“And for you?”
“Marginal taxes, which we can find some way to sweep away with some sort of tariff forgiveness. We get a neutral guard of the—” Reigh tread lightly with those words.
“You want a dragon at your beck and call watching over it?” Rath bristled and sat up. “A dragon serving you.”
“A dragon peacekeeper. War is over. It’s not profitable. There’s no winning.” Reigh sneered and waved a hand, asking for his scribe to be brought in. “Name your terms. The only thing we have in the coffers is the tribute you sent for your Ashen and that runs thin.”
“Write out your proposal. I’ll present it to Ghreiden, and he can be your point of contact. He handles projects like this. I’ll give my consent for him to make the deal and negotiate termsif, and only if, you allow me to be the one to take Earl Tippen down. Witnessed.” Rath crossed his legs. “And it won’t be pretty.”
“How do you intend on—” A certain paleness spread from one male to the next in Reigh’s retinue.
“I will devour him.”
Chapter Twenty
Rath
With the aid of a bevy of wyverns, nobles from the expanse of Monsmount and the house Taras, a merchant family once noble some generations ago until their dukedom had expired. The family’s wealth had been maintained by right of merchantry and no expense had been spared for their children’s education. The head of that family, certainly, had earned right to a dukedom once more.
They landed in the front gardens of the estate, the place poorly kept as he’d remembered. The gold that Rath had given Vierbalt did nothing to upkeep the estate. No groundskeeping, no new shingles on the roof, nor paint applied. Milling employees stared, less fearful than before, but still wary, still as dingy and unwashed.
King Reigh dismounted his wyvern with the aid of his attendants and straightened himself to the wholly unnecessary fanfare and shout of his arrival. Rath rarely, if ever, allowed the theatrics, but they produced better results than how dragons announced their presences.Fire.
Rath sat straighter on Heckle and threw his head back, doing as necessary. If Reigh needed to play a fanciful tune and have a crier announce his name, Rath needed fire. Red. Red, wrathful, hateful fire billowed free of his throat, a stream of pure and molten heat that made the air around him thunder from rapid expansion. And unlike any other magic he performed, it did not require conduction.
The light of his fire threw stark shadows across the courtyard and the king’s men flinched away only slightly. Tippen’s men recoiled and cried out as Heckle roared in agreement.
“Earl Vierbalt of Tippen Valley!” The crier pulled out a parchment as attendants scattered and Rath dismounted, tugging at his collar to loosen his cravat. As the silk slid over his fingers, he carefully folded it and tucked it into the pocket of his jacket. Just because he could afford another quite easily didn’t mean he enjoyed waste. The jacket, though, was important to him, and he removed it, folding each stitch so carefully. A quieting in the bustle around him and a hiss of displeasure let him know Vierbalt had presented himself and spied King Reigh. Rath worked the buttons of his tunic down and pulled the linen from his breeches as scales traversed his pale golden-brown skin.
“Your Majesty! To what do I owe the extreme pleasure of such a retinue?” Rath turned as Vierbalt bowed low.
Armed guards marched forward and flanked Vierbalt, locking him in elbow to elbow as he shouted in surprise, rodent-like eyes darting from one noble to another as they shuffled off their wyverns.
“Earl Vierbalt Tippen! You have been visited by your peers and regent this day to discuss accusations made by former members of your household, King Rath of Sauria, and his new mate, a former ward of your keep.” The crier presented papers to Vierbalt as he took them awkwardly, arms still locked by the guards. He read them carefully, face paling.
“Do you wish to rebut?” King Reigh stepped forward, head held high as Rath leaned his head to the side, letting the vertebrae crack. The posture of his body was all the sign Heckle needed to back away, snarling at the other wyverns in warning—Rath took up a considerable amount of space in his greater form.
“I think all this display and violence is wholly unnecessary. I—I didn’t realize Asha was an Ashen. I certainly wouldn’t have been as strict with him had I known.” Vierbalt twisted theparchment in his hands. All the charges laid out were ones that he’d not want another soul to see.
“And the charges against your servant girls?” Rath’s voice boomed. “I think my mate was far more concerned over your behavior there than he was over the vicious beatings.”
“His beatings were notvicious. They were appropriate to his—” Rath reached for his belt and extended a hand, a sack hanging by leather strings from his scaled fingers. Color spread wildly up his skin. “What is that?”
Rath threw the bag, and it landed heavily with a clink at Vierbalt’s feet.
